Pleading Groping Hands Bleeding in the Sand
by Spinny Roses
Summary: [WA3] And no one seemed to be free from the utter terror that had gripped the townspeople.
1. Prologue

Title: Pleading Groping Hands; Bleeding in the Sand  
Author: Spinny Roses  
Fandom: Wild Arms 3  
Rating: R  
Warnings: Disturbing weirdness, torture, sexual overtones, het and yaoi implications (no, not telling)  
Spoilers: Whole game  
Notes: Title and entire story is inspired by Delerium's "Duende." Will link a very general FAQ in user info if reviewers need it.  
Disclaimer: Don't own.

Prologue

_Need to get out of here._

_No! It'll be waiting. Waiting to kill me._

_It hurts. Broken rib, great. Gonna impair my escape._

_It'll be morning soon._

_It'll be morning soon._

**_Go away I'm not ready stop it stop it STOP._**

"Mm, just a few more hours until morning, isn't it... Jet?"

---

_Two days earlier_

"An' get yer dirty feet off mah table!"

With a grunt, Jet Enduro shifted his boots off the table as food and beer was plunked down in front of him. He had barely stepped foot into the bar when the barkeep had started bitching at him about everything: The color of his hair, his clothing, the state of his boots... Never mind when he ordered alcohol and the underage rant he got about that one. Good thing the cook had also been the innkeep that hired her, and told the twit to shut up and serve him.

Things had changed quite a bit in the last few months. More towns had cropped up, with the expected rail stations to take them to the harder to reach areas. There was even a bit of an ocean to speak of, with the occasional village starting up on an isolated island. Rumor had it one of the islands was one _wild_ place to visit. It was on Jet's list of things to do before being bored to death by Gallows to visit that place. Alone.

Naturally, this was one new town. It had grown pretty quickly, all things considered. There was a rather decent sized inn, ARMs master, several small houses... and it was completely useless. No one knew anything. Jet gave a quick thought to his other teammates, split up over other locations to maximize information gathering. They better be doing better than he was. That sounded like one hell of a treasure, if they could only _find_ it.

"You ain't plannin' on goin' to Deadwood, are ya?" The innkeep asked, quickly cleaning a table to its former semi-sticky glory. "Boy, let me tell ya, hardier men than ya have gone in there and come back broken. It's a hell of a place, an' no one is willin' to talk about it. 'Least, not after dark."

Now _that_ was the kind of thing Jet wanted to hear. He had seen a town to the west, and since he now knew the name and what kind of town it was... almost sounded like Little Twister. And that little shithole was perfect for finding sensitive information like this. Fuck, they had found out about it first on the black market, of course a town like Deadwood should have information on the treasure.

Eh, it was getting dark. His gelding wouldn't go five paces under a full moon, much less under the waning moon it was tonight. Best to wait and go in the morning. Besides, the inn was cheap here. No big loss.

"Ah am not lettin' that kid stay here!"

Or maybe not.

---

_Come to me. Bring to me your pain, your weariness, your tears, your **fears**..._

Allow me to feast upon your worst fears.

Come to me in hope, my dear Drifters, into my cradle of fear.

Welcome to Deadwood...


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hokay, that was the third rotting corpse he had passed today. The brown gelding under him was getting more and more jumpy as they traveled, and Jet was getting just a little tired of getting thrown once an hour. Also, the corpses had been getting weirder and weirder. The first looked like some stupid wannabe Drifter had been caught by a monster and mauled. Second one... Jet was certain that there was no monster on these part of the Filgaia plains that could produce bite marks like that.

The third, however... Jet could tell this was an experienced Drifter. He had died with his hands on his ARM, back to a rock. And what was left of his face expression spoke of something that scared him to death.

And that didn't set right with him.

It was only another half hour to Deadwood. He'd make it by midday. Jet took one hand off the reins to shift his ARM into a slightly more comfortable position.

And his gelding took that opportunity to panic and rear once again. Jet managed to stay on for a few precious moments before he was tossed onto his ass. Jet landed hard on the Airget-Lamh, breath knocked out of him by having the barrel jam itself up between his shoulders. The distant feminine giggling made his groan part pain, part annoyance.

"Going to Deadwood, Jet?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, picking himself up. "You too?"

Virginia nodded, her gait as she walked up to him a little off. He noticed the favoring of her right leg and snorted. "Your horse refuses to get anywhere near here too? I got as far as that rock over there," she waved a gloved hand behind her, "before Loveless decided to panic and run."

Loveless. It still surprised Jet that she decided to name her mare, and such a stupid name at that. "Think there's something in that town?"

"Like a monster?" Virginia frowned, putting one hand to her mouth. "We'd hear about it, wouldn't we? If anything, people from Deadwood wanting us to kill it so they can go home."

Jet grunted, not liking the idea of having to do monster extermination for no gella.

"Oh yeah! I saw Gallows. He said that he and Clive were going to check out one more lead before heading over to Deadwood as well. Maybe we can figure out our leads from there!"

Another grunt, this one more "eh, sure" than annoyed.

"Come on, Jet, let's get a move on! We can make it before sundown if we hurry!"

---

Going about everyday life is normal. Women washing clothes with nearby stream water, men getting together to talk about a good hunt or make one of their own. Things grow, plants are harvested, and at night, perhaps a drunken revelry or two.

This was the scene that greeted Jet and Virginia as the sun started its slow decent to the horizon. Deadwood was a good, wholesome town. Jet looked around in disgust, expecting more.

"Hey, travelers!" A matronly woman shifted her drooling infant in one arm, basket of bread in the other. "Ya ain't going to be spending the night, are ya?"

"Is that a problem?" Virginia asked, worried. They hadn't seen an inn yet... maybe Deadwood didn't have one.

"Nah. It just gets a little... _weird_ during the night. Some Drifters ain't able to take it." She shrugged, unconcerned, and walked off, nearly tripping over a little boy that suddenly darted in her path. The brat shoved a thick lock of brown hair back, sticking a tongue out at her as he ran off in another direction.

Hmm, "a little weird during the night." That sounded more like it.

"Yo, Virginia, inn." Jet nodded towards a tall building proclaiming "Barry's Saloon and Inn." With a huge grin, Virginia turned to him and clasped her hands behind her back.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"You just want to sit down."

"Hey!" Virginia spun away from him, affronted. The limp had gotten progressively worse as the day had gone on, though Virginia had tried her best to hide it and continue on a decent pace. With a shrug, Jet brushed past the annoyed girl.

"Well, what the hell are you waitin' for?

---

"You know, I thought this place would be..."

"M'r vi'lent?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full!"

Jet rolled his eyes and swallowed. "More violent? Yeah, I know what you mean." He shoved another piece of meat into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. The sun was almost down and yet everything still seemed normal.

Eh, the food was good. Kinda strange, though. Jet hadn't ever had meat like this before.

"Another dead end." Virginia sighed, setting her fork down. And proceeded to let out the reason why Gallows was not allowed to get into burping contests with their leader ever, ever again. "Oops!"

The final hiss of the "s" had just faded away as the sun vanished beyond the horizon.

Jet and Virginia jumped simultaneously at the sound of a large ARM going off. Screams, terrified and angered, filled the air. Without even needing to look at each other, the two Drifters scrambled out of their seats to be met with the sight and smell of an utter bloodbath.

And no one seemed to be free from the utter terror that had gripped the townspeople. The mother that had greeted them before was screaming at the top of her lungs, stabbing a man over and over in the face while the mutilated body of her infant laid behind her. The one with an ARM, a .45 single action revolver, was aiming wildly and shooting at anything that moved. A few townspeople were huddling in the shadows, unable to move from their spots.

Quickly, Jet grabbed Virginia's arm and shoved her out of sight. He barely had time to put a hand on his ARM when something smacked his head from behind. Jet tried to turn around as Virginia screamed out his name only to be cut off in pain. The cold barrel of an ARM was placed against the back of his head and his hands clenched. This was a pathetic and utterly idiotic way to die!

The barrel was slowly removed. Jet was tensing to free his ARM when whatever hit him before did so again, hard enough to cause him to finally black out amid the dying screams.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Well, he wasn't dead. That was good. Unfortunately, it seemed like the only good thing. The air was deadly quiet, without the sound of a single living being. His head hurt like... well, like someone had used brute force to knock him out. And the smell...

Blood. Blood and feces and urine and generally _death_. Jet choked back a sudden rising of bile, cracking his eyes open. It was still dark... still night, or another night? He carefully moved his head to the side, and stopped breathing for a moment at the sight. He had seen that brat before. Had almost tripped the mother. And now the kid was laying in a corner, hands wrapped around a knife shoved into his throat. The blood splatter had been in his direction and he was probably covered in drying blood at the moment. Jet shifted a little, amending that thought to "definitely covered in drying blood."

Slowly, Jet pushed himself up into a sitting position. It was expected that the back of his head would hurt like hell. Kinda interesting that nothing else hurt, though. And there was something missing... something heavy and... whatever put him there took his ARM. Great.

It sounded like there was nothing nearby that was still living. All the townspeople... and at their own hands. It was sickening. And... Virginia. Jet clenched his fist, just a little overwhelmed with anger. What the hell caused all that? Normal humans do not just start killing people and acting completely crazed with terror!

Which... kinda begged the question. Why was he still alive?

"Oh, good." A face suddenly appeared in his vision, a lanky body with a sheriff's star pinned firmly to his chest attached. Jet jumped, hitting the back of his head against the wall and causing his vision to black out for a second. "You're awake. Wouldn't do to put the night to waste, after all."

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man just grinned, straightening. "Do you think you'll live long enough to really care, Jet Enduro?"

That caused Jet to tense. "You gonna kill me while I'm unarmed?"

"No, no." The man went over to the brat, kicking the body over casually. "I wouldn't dare bloody my own hands with it. No, Jet, by the time I am through..." He kicked at the knife. "This will be your best friend."

Jet looked at the body for a moment, then let out a dry laugh and spat. "No offense, dipshit, but I don't think so."

"Hmm." And a red ribbon dropped in Jet's lap. "Your adorable little Drifter girl was wearing this? She ran quickly after you were knocked out. Perhaps it's for the best... I only have time for one of you."

"Bullshit," Jet croaked, looking up from the ribbon. Virginia was too stupid to run. She would have stayed and fought to get him back. She wouldn't have left unless she was dragged out, and even then, she'd go kicking and screaming. He tossed the ribbon back to the man, snorting. "Don't know what corpse you looted that from, but it ain't hers."

He blinked, a little taken aback. Then, he frowned in thought. "I see, I see. You're a tasty cookie, Jet, and I will enjoy figuring you out." He chuckled to himself, starting to leave. "Your friends won't dare try to rescue you during the night. You see... you're in my world now." His shadow stretched and grew, bubbling, writhing, _wrong_. "And they aren't."

"What are...?"

"You will know soon enough." With those words, the door closed and locked.

---

Jet had learned the hard way the door was more solid than it looked. Or was reinforced, either one. Bars across the windows, so even if he shattered the glass, he wouldn't be able to climb out. Only thing he could really do is wait until that weird... thing showed back up again. He knew he'd be able to get the drop on it. Jet toyed idly with the knife, his weight off his aching foot.

Any time now.

Any time. Really.

Waiting games were the worst. That didn't mean that Jet relaxed any, though.

The door was still not opening. Jet let out an irritated sigh, lowering the knife hand slightly. There was nothing to warn him, not even the barest whisper of sound when long strong fingers wrapped around his neck. He struggled, alarmed. Nothing was that quiet. Nothing could get inside a locked room. Jet stabbed backwards, hoping to inflict some kind of pain, and hit nothing. A miss? But the hands disappeared and he spun around, coughing.

Nothing.

What the _hell_? Reviewing the facts... something was behind him. Something that moved too quietly and got in without unlocking the door. And surprised him...

Of course. Only a totally idiot would have missed it. That sheriff. It managed to sneak up on Jet, and it was completely silent otherwise. And it wasn't human, so it was pretty obvious.

"Well played!" The sheriff stepped out into the moonlight, watching the android carefully. "You're incredibly perceptive, boy. You aren't afraid of your friends leaving you for dead... you aren't afraid of Things that Go Bump in the Night... I'll actually have to do some work. You're a challenge, one I haven't had for a while."

"Feh."

It chuckled, circling him. "I have to wonder. Are you afraid of normal things? You are so cynical for one so young... not even twenty, I would assume? And strangely experienced for your age."

Jet snorted, not taking his eyes off it.

"But there's always something. Always..."

"You gonna stop talking and do something soon?" Jet interrupted. Geez, he talked more than Virginia and Gallows combined.

It obliged, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall. Jet barely managed to keep his hold on the knife when it whispered in his ear. "Tough. Quite tough..." Jet squirmed, really not liking its closeness. "Oh ho. Afraid of being touched? Not really something I would have expected from someone as pretty as you. Or is it because you're so pretty, hm?" Idly, it ripped the knife out of his hand and tossed it behind him. "No, just the beginning," it mused as its hand stroked up Jet's thigh. "There is more to it. You're already not afraid of what's coming next?"

Jet grunted around the pressure on his throat. "Drifter for ten years. Not anything new."

The sheriff paused, then let go. "Hm. I had hoped for more from you. Well, well. I suppose I will see you later... oh, and enjoy the show."

Jet looked up from his coughing, not that surprised that the asshole had already left. Dawn would probably be in an hour or so... he might be able to get out then. Though, the dull roar was starting to...

Wait.

Dull roar? Of people? Jet looked outside, blinking. There... were people. The townspeople. It looked completely and utterly normal, not even a single bloodstain. Jet quickly looked over at where the body would be, dumbfounded that there wasn't even a smear on the floor. It was like... the town had started the day over.

"What the _HELL!_"


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The town had literally restarted. Jet looked through the bars, stunned as he noticed the mother, who had been either crazed enough to kill her own infant or had snapped when someone had done so, taking the still-living and now squalling child out for a walk. Jet could even tell that the asshole had stashed him in a room in the inn, as he could smell the kitchen below him and several people around him getting up for the morning.

It was... a normal day. Only not.

Did he have to be right over the kitchen? Jet twisted the knob, hoping his annoyance would be enough to break the lock. No such luck. And his shoulder quickly protested being rammed into the door, telling him that thinking that would break the lock was stupid to begin with. The only thing he could do was sit down, smell the food being cooked, and hoped a maid decided to unlock the door and clean.

There was something _wrong_ about the town. Not just the fact everyone killed everyone else and then it went back to normal like nothing had happened. A... malevolence, just under the surface. Why the hell didn't he feel it the first time around? It was an undercurrent, but damn if it wasn't an obvious one. It would have been obvious if he wasn't the Filgaia Sample!

Was that a woman whimpering? Jet frowned, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Eh, but a saloon like this probably had a few whores. One of them probably had a bad night. Not his problem.

That stew smelled so good. Trying to take his mind off things, Jet looked back outside, snorting as he saw the same brat that used to occupy one of the corners of his room stumble out of an alley, rubbing his eyes. He accidentally bumped into one of the men, who appeared to be suffering from too much "medicine" the night before. Instead of a fight, the man just stumbled off to a nearby horse trough and... eeesh. Hangovers were nasty business, especially the part in treating them. Jet lifted his upper lip in disgust, then twisted it into a wry smile as he realized the brat had lifted a few gella from the drunkard. More than one way to make a buck.

There was someone talking below him, just barely loud enough to be heard. Jet searched for a good knothole in the floor, quickly finding out most of them were in the wrong spots to see anything. But this low to the ground... he could hear something.

"-but I am unable to get the most out of the subject." Okay, that whiny voice was the cook. Subject?

"Well, it's a delicate process. Especially if... hm, such tender meat." The other voice was richer and smooth as deadly silk. Jet shivered at hearing it, knowing there was malice under it. The woman's whimpering increased in volume and a sick knot settled in his stomach. There was no way... "If you cut here, you risk ruining the leg meat. I would... recommend here."

A muffled feminine scream, almost covered by a wet slicing sound.

"Ah, I see."

It was. Jet choked back a heave. He had some of that. It had been a woman. Human. They chopped up and served human here. No wonder the meat had tasted weird. The woman's voice barely got loud enough to be heard outside of the kitchen, but... she was alive as they sliced her up.

He wasn't going to throw up. Nope. Not while he didn't have a chance in hell in cleaning it up.

What was wrong with this town?

---

It had... been an eventful day, finding out what the meat was aside. The mother had gotten a bit violent... nearly beat up her own husband before going back to the normal, kind figure. It looked like an act, not like split personalities. She knew exactly what she was doing. The sheriff investigated that one, and... there was something different about him. Something human. Something _right_.

Right about now, Jet surmised, he would have been walking in to Deadwood with Virginia. The sun was almost in the right spot. The undercurrent of something _bad_ was still around... if the day had started over, why didn't he catch it the first time? He kicked at the door again, pissed. Were the people just stupid or something? No one came to investigate the noise all day.

The sudden change in the atmosphere made Jet's head hurt. It felt like something snapping into place. For a few untold moments, his vision was so blurred with pain that he couldn't see an inch past his nose. What had happened? He looked outside the window blearily, squinting at the familiar shape of the sheriff strolling out of an alley.

Wait.

Strolling? Almost... gleefully? That wasn't how he had acted all day. He had moved with purpose, but tiredly. Like the job had gotten to him. And... yes. That was a bloodstain. His shadow... Jet reared back from the window. The undercurrent was gone and had settled into that man. He was... possessed. That was the only thing that would explain it.

He looked up at the window, two fingers touching the brim of his hat. Jet sneered down, knowing what it was he was looking at. Filgaia itself was disgusted with it and wanted the stain gone. He knew.

No wonder he hadn't had a feeling of wrongness walking in.

It would be a while before the large ARM went off. Jet had to wonder, though, who that was. The only other ARM he had seen in town had been the .45 revolver. Not nearly large enough for that sound. The sound he had heard... Jet couldn't shake the feeling it was familiar. An ARM he had heard before.

Screaming. It had started. Morbidly, Jet stared out the window, watching the mother finally lose her cool and start attacking people. The terror she felt spread to the other townspeople, and Jet had an eagle-eye view of the carnage as it happened.

But the large ARM didn't go off. No one had an ARM large enough for it.

It didn't last as long as Jet thought it would. After fifteen minutes, most everyone was dead. And with a snort, he heard the lock on the door being picked. If the day was going to end right, of course there had to be the suicide of the last remaining townsperson. Of course. It was so perfectly cliché.

The kid bust in, panting as he looked around. He was liberally splattered with blood, flesh, and guts. Probably had to fight his way out. He curled up in the far corner, near the door, shaking. "Maria... she... and Phillip... they... they..." His hands shook as he looked down at the knife in his hands. Jet had the sudden irrational urge to try to stop him as the kid jammed the weapon into his own throat. The white-haired android looked away, disgusted. There was no way he could have changed that. But...

Hey...

Door's open. Without thinking about it, Jet reached down as he passed by the dying form of the brat, pulling the knife free. It was the only weapon he would have until he could find his ARM. He quickly turned around the corner of the threshold, thrilled at his escape. _Finally._

That was, until the asshole in the sheriff's body ambushed him with a board. Very simply, he swung the wood into Jet's ribs with enough force to drive the breath out of his body. "Now, now. None of that. Though, kudos for thinking of it, Jet."

Damn.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

There were no words spoken. The sheriff simply kicked Jet back into the room, watching as he tried to catch his breath. Just as dispassionately, he grabbed the android's wrist and bent it almost to the breaking point. The knife dropped out of his pain-numbed hand, and another kick put him flat on his back. The sheriff placed a foot on Jet's chest and casually bent down to one knee.

"...what?" Jet finally snapped at him. Chuckling, it tapped its chin.

"A thought. Nothing more." He moved his foot off and stood with a strange grace. "You seem more interesting in hurting yourself than really thinking. Perhaps... you should sleep."

Jet would have scoffed, if at the moment his vision didn't swim. "You bastard," he grit out, rubbing his eyes. "What are you...?"

"You can't possibly think of an escape, as tired as you are?" His voice was low... hypnotic. Jet found himself starting to nod off as the voice continued. "An hour of sleep, allow your brain to rest for a while..."

"Stop." A small thrill of alarm ran through Jet's body, keeping him awake a little longer. He couldn't sleep, not while that _thing_ was there.

"Rest. Rest, dear Jet."

"Stop!" Jet slammed his hand against the floor, sitting up a little.

Silence. He looked around, snorting as he realized the bastard did the disappearing act again. Of course. Jet slowly got up, a little impressed with himself that he didn't hurt as much as he thought he would. The knife was still there and the door was open, so that just made the sheriff even more of an idiot. Jet armed himself and started out, a little more cautious this time.

Didn't hear anything... He had to be careful going around this corner, easy spot to be ambushed. Jet hesitated, stretching his hearing when he heard footsteps. Hurried, but the same weight and timing as a certain idiot sheriff... oh hell no! Jet flattened himself against the wall, waiting. A little closer. Closer. He raised his knife hand, tensing.

Now. Jet pushed himself around the corner, stabbing outward at the same time. The blade split the yellow vest effortlessly and was driven into soft flesh just as easily. A brown and black coat draped around him and - wait.

That was _not_ right.

Jet slowly looked up, horror being born in the pit of his stomach. He looked up a familiar stubbled chin into pained blue eyes framed by green hair. His hand dropped off the knife as Clive looked down at it, almost shocked and betrayed. He didn't just do that. Everything about it said that it wasn't going to be someone he knew. Jet stumbled backwards, swallowing. Hell no.

"Jet?"

That was even Clive's voice, worried and confused. No, he couldn't look up at him, not after that. Jet clenched his eyes closed as he pressed up against a wall. His hand was sticky with blood, his friend's blood. The older man had been there to get him out of there. And he stabbed him, killed...

Gravity was doing weird things. Instead of feeling like he was vertical, it felt like he was flat on his back. Jet cracked one eye open, looking up at a... ceiling? Wait just a moment. That was beyond not right. He sat up quickly, then doubled over in pain. His ribs _hurt_. And so did his wrist, for that matter. His hand was still covered in blood... but whose was it? Jet looked around at his prison, heart pounding. Had he even gotten out of this room?

"Beautiful." The sheriff plucked at his shirt, a little disgusted. "I would have done without the stabbing, though." It pulled the knife free, tossing next to Jet. "Afraid of betraying your friends. Though, are those two truly just friends?" He leered at Jet as the android shot a disturbed look at him. "Ah, you just have 'traveling companions.' How sweet."

Wait a second... two? Jet carefully wrapped his fingers around the handle, standing slowly. Two. He hadn't seen Gallows? Clive... his head hurt, and he fell back down onto his ass. Was this reality? This nightmare world where a day restarted only to end in a massacre? Or was it where he was a killer, having slain someone that had guarded his back time after time? And Virginia, had he left her to die? Had that been the woman he had heard killed earlier in the day? Does that mean he had eaten her? Jet's stomach heaved as he followed that improbable line of thought.

The sheriff had left. Or had he been there? Jet looked down at the knife, shaking, unaware as his thoughts started to splinter.

---

"Mm, just a few more hours until morning, isn't it... Jet?"

Jet pulled his face away, brandishing the knife. It wasn't going to touch him. He wouldn't let it.

"Put that down. Someone might get _hurt_."

Jet's arms wavered, the memory of a pained and confused voice surfacing. No, that was a dream. Or, it didn't matter. He had to get out of there. He had to.

"I said," and at this point the sheriff grabbed his sore wrist, "put that down."

He kicked at it, stomping down on a sudden bloom of emotion. No, it didn't matter. He had to get out. The motion made his ribs scream in agony, but it did its job. The sheriff let go.

"You want to leave that badly?" It chuckled, and waved at the door. "If you can get out before the day starts again, you're welcome to it. However," and here it put warm lips against his ear, "you have five minutes."

Fine. Jet pushed him away and stumbled out of the room. It wasn't going to take him five minutes to get out of there. Each breath made his chest scream with pain, but that didn't matter. He wasn't going to spend another day in this town.

How long had it taken him to get out of the inn? Felt like ten minutes, at least. But nothing had happened yet. He still had time. Run for the gate, that's what he should do. Jet managed a few steps before his ribs protested, forcing him to slow. But it was right there, and the town was still eerily silent it was still dead and all he had to do was cross into the desert and he'd be safe. He'd be safe.

Safe.

Jet hit the sand face-first, groaning. Each breath was pure agony. But if he had to, he would crawl on his hands and knees. Or elbows and knees or whatever.

The sound of a waking town behind him was a death knell to Jet. He turned around slowly, waiting to see what would happen. They would see him, no doubt, and try to help. He wouldn't be able to leave. They would kill him.

They were supposed to see him, right? Jet slowly stood, hand gripping wood, then realized what he was using for support. The town gates. The _outside_ of the town gates. He let out a little, weak chuckle, looking back at Deadwood. He had won. Jet looked over at the sheriff, about to gloat when he realized what it was the ass had in its hands.

Airget-Lahm.

Oh no way he was letting his ARM stay there. The knife... just a little away from the gates. He must have dropped it when he fell. Jet backed up, carefully bending down to get it when something the size of an ape with the scream of a large cat hit him from behind.

Jet landed hard on his bad wrist, mind temporarily blank with pain. He looked up at it, trying not to cough. A monster, so close to town? Somewhere it had to be written that Jet was not to have a good day. He attempted to sit up when the monster backhanded him.

Damn it. Damn it! Jet wiped a bit of blood away from his mouth, looking up at the dumb beast. It knew it had a meal right here. Damn it. He wasn't going to go down without a fight, though. Not without...

A shot. Not only that, but it was a large ARM. A very familiar large ARM. The monster grunted, looking past Jet to what had hit it.

"Hey ugly! Hey ugly! Over here, ugly!"

Fate had to be _kidding_.

"You're not going to touch him!" The sound of two pistols, very familiar ARMs to Jet, went off, and Virginia stepped in front of him. Gallows joined her, shoving his modified Coyote in the thing's nose and emptying both barrels into its face. A bolt slid home behind him and Jet looked behind him to see the green haired sniper take aim once again. This time, it hit the monster square in the head, putting it down for the count.

Virginia turned, relieved. "Jet! I'm glad you managed to get out. Gallows, we have to eeeep!"

Jet looked around, wary. No, Fate was kidding. There was no way these were his companions. It wasn't. He stood slowly, still brandishing the knife in the Virginia look-alike's direction. He had to get further away, further from the town's influence.

"Jet, what do you think you're doing?"

No, that wasn't Clive. Clive was dead, but wasn't that a dream? He turned, watching it step closer to him. "Don't you dare," Jet finally said, voice croaking from disuse and pain. "Don't." It wasn't stopping. Jet grit his teeth, and pointed the knife directly at him. "Don't."

A strong hand lowered his arms, calmly, carefully. "Jet, calm down." Clive pried the knife out of his hands, carefully handing it to Virginia. "Jet."

No... this couldn't be right. He raised a fist, trying to hit him when Clive grabbed his upper arms. He didn't more than that, but just held him there as Jet cursed and thrashed before his ribs finally said enough. Jet stood there, panting, shaking. Clive's shadow... it was right. The right size for the man. But it couldn't be. These... were his friends?

A gentle, feminine hand touched his shoulder, worried. On the other side, a big bear of a hand clasped the other shoulder. They didn't try to frighten him or anything of the sort. Jet looked around, seeing worried relief mirrored in all of their faces.

He was free. The sudden relief made his legs numb and he sagged in Clive's grasp.

"Jet!"


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A sudden coughing fit gripped him, causing Jet to choke on the water. He waved off a hand, clearing the water from his lungs after a few seconds. "'m okay, Virginia," he growled, a little embarrassed as Clive moved to support him.

"Slowly," the older man admonished him, lifting his canteen back to Jet's lips. He grunted again, annoyed by all the attention. It was getting pretty cold... normal, considering he had been out for most of the day and desert nights were cold as hell. He tried to sit up on his own, damn near ready to try and reintroduce his fist to Clive's nose as the man held him a little tighter.

Waking up had been interesting. The fact he wasn't on hard floorboards, but rather in a familiar bedroll had been enough to confuse him mildly. The dream he had before waking, a barely remembered nightmare consisting of blood, death, and long brown hair, had set him further on edge. When Clive had hovered over him to see if he had woken up...

Jet was certain that Clive deserved the shiner for that stunt.

Virginia scooted a little closer, a steaming mug in her hands. Jet eyed it, a little frightened at what would jump out of it.

"Gallows made it," Clive murmured in his ear.

Relieved, Jet took the mug with almost steady hands.

"Hey!" Virginia's face didn't match the offended tone in her voice. Jet just snorted, taking a small sip of the broth. Their leader could make some excellent sandwiches. Anything involving actual cooking, however... was better left to Gallows or Clive. He was still having nightmares about her stew.

After a few more minutes, and draining the mug to the halfway point, Jet spoke up. "I'm going back to Deadwood."

"Whoa!" Gallows looked up from the fire, surprised. "No way in hell, man. That place is a death trap."

Virginia nodded, firm. "You can't go back. Not like this."

The android snorted, taking another gulp of the cooling liquid. "Yeah, well, it ain't your ARM that asshole has. I'm goin' back to get it."

Clive let out a long breath, tickling his ear. "He has a point, Virginia," he told the girl sternly. "Without his ARM, he might as well go to nest now. And if anything," Clive's voice took a rarely heard dark turn here, "if that town continues the way it has, it'll claim more victims."

"Well, yeah, but..."

Virginia frowned, thinking about this. She looked up at Gallows, opened her mouth like she had an answer, then closed it, still thinking.

"Maybe we should go back to Baskar. I mean, this is really..."

"No." Jet finished off the broth, and started to get up. "We don't have time to go visit her this time. I'm goin' to get my ARM. Come with me or not, I don't give a shit, but I ain't lettin' you keep me here."

"Jet..." Virginia gripped her knees, not looking up at him. "We just got you back. We can't let you just go off and get hurt or... kidnapped or..." Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress tighter. "But... we can't just let this happen. We all saw the bodies. We heard the rumors. And with what happened, we know what's true!"

Clive nodded, and pulled something free from a pack. He flipped it around, and handed that damned knife back to Jet, hilt first. The man just looked calmly at him, damn near understanding. Jet took it, idly noticing someone had cleaned it while he was out. Finally, he sat back down, back up against a rock this time. "Fine, fine. What the hell ever."

Gallows scratched the back of his head, sighing. "Man, and I just can't let you go have all the fun without me. Count me in too, I guess."

Virginia brightened at that. "All right!" She and Gallows started arguing over something, probably something incredibly banal, when Clive spoke quietly to Jet.

"Don't get too caught up in your revenge."

Jet blinked, surprised. Then he snorted, looking up at the sky. "Whatever," he grumbled. Then, grudgingly, "Two days ago... thanks."

Clive opened his mouth, then closed it. "I wouldn't say that so soon. I had to knock her out first."

"Didn't expect it any other way," he said, amused. "How the hell did you make it there, anyway?"

"Gallows," came the unexpected response. "He noticed the horses were being startled a little too easily, and decided to send me on ahead to Deadwood while he calmed them down."

"Hmph. So he does have a brain up there."

Clive shot him a disapproving look tinged with amusement. "Best get some rest, Jet. You're still not healed."

"Yeah, yeah..."

---

"Augh! What is that?" Virginia put a hand to her nose, eyes watering. "It's like there's something dead nearby."

Jet looked at the group in amazement. They couldn't feel the pressure on their chest, and the feeling of complete and utter wrongness? They were focusing on a _smell_? He watched Gallows cough and wave at the air. With an eyeroll, he turned back to the path to Deadwood. If they couldn't take a smell, then they shouldn't have come with him.

"Yo, Jet, can't you smell that?" Gallows complained, quickening his step to walk next to him.

"No." And he didn't really care. He just wanted to get his damn ARM back and dish out some of the pain he got. In either order, Jet wasn't picky. It felt more and more wrong closer to the town... the sheriff hadn't been killed yet. Guardians, it felt horrible.

Clive placed a hand on Jet's shoulder, causing him to tense and battle the urge to lash out at him. These really were his companions, not a cruel trick. It wouldn't do to hurt them. "You really can't smell it?" the man asked, voice low.

"Hell no. Air feels wrong, but that's about it."

Gallows slowed, obviously thinking. "Hey... That..."

"Hurry up or get left behind," Jet snapped, catching sight of the gates. No one noticed them coming up. Of course, still in their stupid rut. He paused briefly at the gates, watching with tired amusement as the kid relieved another townsperson of some gella. If the town hadn't gone batshit, he might have liked that brat.

"Um... why don't they see us?"

"Probably can't," Gallows spoke up, thoughtful. "You said that this place went completely apeshit and everyone started killing everyone else, right? The day's probably on constant replay."

"But... how?"

Jet snorted. "There's a demon. Probably download itself before Beatrice."

Everyone looked at Jet, confused. "How do you," Clive started, pushing his glasses up when the android cut him off with an exasperated look. "Oh. Right."

"Bein' the Filgaia Sample come in handy," Jet said, shrugging, turning away. He knew that Virginia was going to come up beside him and try to comfort him with a touch. Girl always tried it. But Clive was a bit of a surprise, as was Gallows.

"Don't put yourself down," Clive started, sternly.

"We're a team!" Virginia smiled at him brightly.

"Whether you like it or not, buddy."

Jet snorted, looking back at the town. "We better get moving. Don't have that much time before it goes insane." He nodded towards one building, freeing the knife. "Over there. That's the jail."

"Then let's go." Virginia pulled out one of her ARMs, raising it to her forehead briefly. "Ready."

Two red shells slammed home into the Coyote. "Ready."

And a bolt was pulled back and thrust forward, chambering a round. "Ready."

Jet narrowed his eyes. "Ready."

---

"Can I help you?" The sheriff stood, tired. Jet pushed down his urge to beat the snot out of him right then, and nodded to his Airget-Lahm.

"That's my ARM."

"Is it?" The sheriff looked it over, blinking at it. "For the life of me..."

Jet raised a hand. "Cut the bullshit," he snapped. "You know where it came from, and you know who it belongs to." He stepped back, warily. "So why don't you just stop the normal act?"

A rich, _wrong_ laugh bubbled from his throat. "Impressive. And you brought your friends this time." The sheriff lifted the Airget-Lahm, looking it over. "How did you know, dear Jet? You aren't quite human, are you."

No, he wouldn't let himself feel that bit of alarm. "And you're not as stupid as you look," Jet shot back.

A shout from outside... Virginia. Jet tensed at the sound of Gallows firing, glaring at the sheriff. "Oh, didn't you realize? They do what I want. Redo the day that gave me the most terror, draw in new souls to feast on... and kill to protect me. They are quite the invincible army."

Jet snarled, starting to circle him. Knife fighting... the basics were somewhere in his body, borrowed from the original Jet Enduro. His half-healed ribs started to hurt, warning him that yes, he had a limit. Damn Gallows and his refusing to cast a healing spell for broken bones more than once an hour.

Two shots... Virginia. There had to be a way to defeat them. A single, loud shot, and a curse coming from an unlikely source. Clive's ability to cuss surprised the rest of them and made them wonder just what kind of childhood the cultured man had.

The room was too small. Neither of them would have the space to fight properly. But all Jet had to do was grab his ARM. If anything, they could fight their way out after that. He didn't care about stopping it from luring unwitting travelers. He'd rather live.

"Virginia!" Gallows yelled, loud enough to be heard on the other side of Filgaia. "They're undead!"

Jet's eyes widened. Of course. Using that exclamation as a signal, Jet rushed forward, tackling the possessed body. He managed to wrap his fingers around his ARM on the way, but only knocked it off the desk. Bored, the sheriff knocked him off. "Is that..." It suddenly stumbled, looking outside. "Bastards."

"Requiem!"

Jet laughed bitterly, groping for his ARM. "Invincible army?" He curled his fingers around the handle.

The sheriff's response to that was to grab Jet and toss him through the window. Instinctively, Jet rolled into the landing, managing to only injure his shoulder and face a little from the razor-sharp glass.

"Jet!" Virginia looked over at him, a golden Guardian slab in her hand.

"You're on the right track!" Jet managed to shout back before the sheriff jumped out, hauling him to his feet. He kicked at the man, managing to break free and back up a bit.

Suddenly, he heard Gallows's voice, speaking the trigger Arcana word with a resonance that only said he was invoking his special ability. "Requiem!" The sheriff staggered, nearly going to his knees as the townspeople dropped from having their puppet strings suddenly cut. Jet smirked, and placed the barrel of the Airget-Lahm against his forehead.

"Sorry, but this had always been my best friend," he said, and let out a burst directly in its face. "Now!"

"Right!" As it was healing, Gallows cast another Requiem on it.

And the world snapped into sickening reality around them, the sight and scent of death, rotting people and rotting buildings, became apparent.

---

"Geh." Gallows followed Jet carefully, inching around the dead body on the stairs. "Look, we got your stupid ARM and took care of the town. What else do you want?"

There was just one more thing. Jet looked at the half-opened door, pulling out the knife. He didn't need it anymore. The kid was laying there, a good portion of its middle eaten away by scavengers too stupid or too desperate to be driven away by the demon. Jet thought about it, then bent down, putting the knife in the child's outstretched hands.

"Oh." Virginia looked down at the body. "Yeah... he shouldn't be left without his weapon."

Jet looked behind him, about ready to give her an incredulous look when he realized all of them were giving him knowing looks first. Clive nodded, pushing up his glasses. Virginia smiled, nodding as well.

"That's all good, but can we get out of here? This place gives me the creeps." Leave it to Gallows to ruin the moment. Jet shrugged, straightening as they started out. He passed by Clive, and hesitated as the man said something.

"... heh." He just smiled a little, shifting his ARM. "So you say."

Clive shrugged, following him.

And the child's body laid there, as if fending off the attacker that had cut its life short, Clive's words hanging in the air.

"That was a kind thing to do..."

The End


End file.
